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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24102397">spent a thousand nights alone</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunkissedstar/pseuds/sunkissedstar'>sunkissedstar</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Newsies (1992), Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Brotherly Love, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Nightmares, Past Abuse, Post-Canon, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protectiveness, Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-03 00:01:43</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,671</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24102397</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunkissedstar/pseuds/sunkissedstar</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“Hey, Crutch! You wanna…”</p><p>Suddenly, a hand grabbed Crutchie's shoulder, nails digging into his shirt. Without thinking twice, he jumped away like he’d been burned. Shoving Jack behind him and spinning around to grab the person’s arm in an iron grip, he lashed out.<br/>~<br/>Crutchie was in the Refuge for less than two weeks, and he wished he could go back to being okay, but it's not as easy as he'd hoped.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Crutchie &amp; Jack Kelly</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>49</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>spent a thousand nights alone</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>another fic that i wrote depressed in quarantine, enjoy</p><p>trigger warning: violence, past abuse, mention of nightmares, kinda PTSD</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>When the sun rose beyond the New York skyline and the bell rang in the early hours of the morning, Crutchie couldn’t feel anything but deep, cold dread.</p><p>He’d been awake half the night, staring at the stars as thoughts flew through his head like bullets whizzing through the air. He was scared of the nightmares that would chase him into the day, of the flashes he’d see whenever he closed his eyes. Black and blue bruises, the metallic taste of blood in his mouth, his pounding heart and heavy breathing as he struggled for survival in the Refuge. The fake smile on his face and the blood on the paper as he wrote a shaky letter to Jack.</p><p>It wasn’t like he deserved to be so angry with the world around him. He’d been in the Refuge for less than two weeks. There were kids that had spent half their lives behind bars, only seeing the sun when Roosevelt walked through the doors and shut them behind him for good. It’d been four days since Crutchie got home. He needed to get over it, to push the thoughts to the back of his mind and ignore the shakiness of his footsteps as he got dressed.</p><p>He was silent on the way to the distribution square, tense at the arm Jack slung around his shoulders. Morris Delancey shoved him as he opened the gates. Usually, Crutchie had a one-liner ready, but he couldn’t think of anything but the scars on his mangled leg that would never heal.</p><p>He sat on a paper wagon next to Jack after buying his papers, barely glancing at the front page. He’d already forgotten the headline. Jack’s eyes were flicking to him every few seconds, mouth opening and closing like he wanted to say something before he decided against it.</p><p>“Hey, Crutch! You wanna…”</p><p>Suddenly, a hand grabbed his shoulder, nails digging into his shirt. Without thinking twice, Crutchie jumped away like he’d been burned. Shoving Jack behind him and spinning around to grab the person’s arm in an iron grip, he lashed out. His fist flew out in front of him and bounced off their nose, which started gushing blood two hits later. His crutch smashed into the person’s ribs, and they doubled over in pain. They held their hands over their head, trying to protect themselves as Crutchie brought his crutch down again, preparing himself for another blow.</p><p>Then, someone grabbed his wrist. “Crutchie, stop! What the hell!?”</p><p>He shook them off angrily, heart pounding and head swimming. He wouldn’t go back. He wouldn't let Jack go back. <em>Snyder’s free, he escaped the cops, he’s takin’ me and Jack and Race and Romeo and I’ve gotta protect ‘em from the Refuge… can’t fuckin’ go back… </em></p><p>“Charlie!”<br/><br/>Someone pried his crutch out of his arms, and he stumbled on his mangled leg. Two hands steadied him. Looking up from the ground and swallowing the nausea rising in his throat, he found a pair of wide, brown eyes staring him down. <em> Jack. </em>The sight of a familiar face was like a wave of relief in a world that wouldn’t stop spinning.</p><p>“Crutchie, hey, it’s okay.”</p><p>He didn’t realize it until Jack grabbed the sides of his face, but he was shaking violently, hands deathly pale and curled into tight fists. His eyes felt wet with angry tears that refused to run down his cheeks.</p><p>“Take a deep breath, kid.”</p><p>Squeezing his eyes open and shut to stop the ringing in his ears, Crutchie turned in Jack’s grip, struggling to stay on his feet. Someone had taken his crutch and the world was swaying beneath him.</p><p>Dozens of eyes were on him. Frozen with shock, Race was holding Elmer and Smalls behind him, a hand on Albert’s arm, who was twisting his fingers and trembling. Romeo was pressed up against Specs, who was cleaning his glasses on his shirt, trying to rid himself of the scene in front of him. When Crutchie looked down at his feet, avoiding the prying eyes surrounding him, he understood why.</p><p>Finch was sitting on the ground, angry red welts on his arms like he’d been beaten with a cane. His face was a mess, blood dripping from his nose and lip. His skin was red and irritated, swelling to bruises that would leave him painted in ugly shades of purple and blue. He was clutching his leg to his chest, and Crutchie felt sick to his stomach at the sight of the angry red stain of blood on his torn pant leg.</p><p>Breath coming in quickly, Crutchie stumbled back and hit the paper wagon, gripping the wood with white knuckles that would leave splinters in his hands. Finch looked up at him, eyes huge and mouth set in a permanent grimace of pain. He looked… scared.</p><p>Grabbing his crutch out of Jack’s hands, Crutchie limped away, rubbing his face angrily with the heel of his hand. He didn’t deserve to cry.</p><p>Walking straight out of the square, his feet carried him to the lodging house, passing people on the street that slowed with concerned looks. He was sick of the pitying eyes and the pathetic smiles, elbowing past them without a look in their direction.</p><p>Pulling himself up on the fire escape, he felt the cool metal of the ladder under his hands. His legs were aching and he was still unsteady, but he’d spent years climbing up to Jack’s penthouse, and he found himself sitting on the roof before he could even take a breath of the fresh air above the city.</p><p>“Hey, Crutch.”<br/><br/>He turned just as Jack climbed up beside him, sticking his long legs between the bars of the railing so they were dangling over the ledge of the roof.</p><p>“Can I touch you?”<br/><br/>Crutchie nodded minutely, and Jack’s hand rested on his shoulder, rubbing circles into his thin shirt.</p><p>“Finch wanted to know if you wanted to get lunch. That offer might still be on the table, if you wanted me to ask.”</p><p>It was an attempt at lightening the mood, and Jack cracked a smile as he said it, but Crutchie didn’t even twitch. He was lost in thought, eyes frozen on the scene of Finch sitting on the ground, bruised and bloody. He knew what that felt like, to have the power ripped away from you in a fight. To have someone beating a crutch over your mangled body, angry and hostile. He never wanted to be the one on the other end.</p><p>“Is Finch okay?” he asked, swallowing roughly around a lump in his throat. Jack squeezed his shoulder before letting his hand fall; Crutchie felt cold without him there.</p><p>“He’s fine,” Jack said. “Nothin’ a good night’s sleep and some bandages won’t fix. Specs is downstairs patchin’ him up right now.”</p><p>“I’ll pay for his papes today. He doesn’t have to sell if he’s not feelin’ up to it.”<br/><br/>“Finch ain’t gonna…” <br/><br/>Crutchie fixed him with a harsh glare, digging his nails into his trousers. “I’m payin’. Tell him he doesn’t have to sell.” <br/><br/>Jack sighed, hearing that his tone left no room for discussion and dropping the subject. “So… are you okay?” <br/><br/>Crutchie snorted. “I’m not the one that got beaten over the head with a wooden stick.” <br/><br/>“Doesn’t matter. Listen, I know you’re tense after the Refuge and the strike. I’d think somethin’ was wrong with your head if you weren’t.” Jack rapped his knuckles against Crutchie’s skull. “But I know you’d never hurt any of us on purpose, and Finch knows that too. So what happened down there?”</p><p>“Maybe I’m just havin’ a bad day, Jackie,” Crutchie said tightly.</p><p>Jack rolled his eyes. “No one knows you better than me, kid,” he said. “If you were havin’ a bad day, you’d sell by yourself and get quiet at the gate. Instead, you shoved me behind you to protect me and beat Finch over the head. Those things don’t really go hand-in-hand.”<br/><br/>“I’m <em> fine </em>.”</p><p>All too suddenly, Jack grabbed the back of his neck and spun him to meet his eyes, gripping his shoulders like he’d done in the square, trying to convey a message that Crutchie didn’t understand.</p><p>“Charlie, you’re forgettin’ that I went through that hellhole, too,” Jack said, shaking him lightly. “I’m dumb, but I ain’t stupid. I know this is about the Refuge, I know it’s about the strike. Finch would never lay a hand on you. You thought he was someone else when he grabbed you, didn’t you?”</p><p>Crutchie’s eyes were getting hot with tears, and his voice cracked as he spoke. He wished he could see the moon beyond the morning sunrise; it was the only constant in his life, the one thing he’d been able to see from the Refuge windows. He wondered if it looked any different in the open sky.</p><p>“I… I don’t know,” he said.</p><p>Jack pulled him into his chest. Crutchie buried his face in his shoulder, hiding from a world he’d never escape. He knew he’d never be free of the nightmares, of the cold chills and the pounding heart when someone tapped him on the shoulder. He was only in the Refuge for two weeks. For kids like Jack and Race, who had spent months or years of their lives locked up, they probably understood better than anyone.</p><p>“It’s gonna be okay,” Jack said. “You’re my little brother, whether you like it or not. I’m not goin’ anywhere until you get sick of me or Pulitzer gets me kicked outta New York. Whichever comes first.”</p><p>Crutchie laughed wetly, wiping his eyes with his sleeve. It felt good to cry. He hadn’t let himself in all the days he’d been home, refusing to seem weak or broken under the prying eyes of his friends. But on the roof, below the pink and orange sky, he wasn’t broken. He felt like a puzzle that had fallen apart. Once he put himself back together, he’d be even stronger than before.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>this is in my google docs as "crutch attacks bird boy" and i think that's important</p><p>anyway i hope you're all staying safe and healthy, love u and have a great day :)</p></blockquote></div></div>
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